


Seasons

by sangi



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-10
Updated: 2007-08-10
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangi/pseuds/sangi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Sasuke's return didn't go as planned, and one time for when it does. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August of 2007, moved here for archival reasons.

**1.  
**

The night when Sasuke returns, a soft breeze is blowing through her hair. It's spring and it's flowery. She wonders if she's felt this before but she hasn't - no, she hasn't. The feeling that she's feeling isn't quite what she wanted, but for now it's enough.

It's chilly outside, in the kind of cold way the spring is. They say love is in the air but, honestly, all Sakura can feel is the goose bumps raising on her skin slowly as the moon is passed over by the clouds and the world becomes dark. She knows that he's coming, and she closes her eyes, as if to savor the moment.

But he walks into the clearing with a body in his arms, spiky blond hair poking out of the bundle that is Naruto, and Sasuke watches as she rushes to him, gasping lightly, and he watches still, even as she pulls the blond boy away from him and green chakra surrounds her hands.

And her whisper – _he still has a heartbeat_ – and his eyes – _they are lukewarm as they stare_ – describe them more than any words ever could.

When she's sure that her teammate is stable enough for the moment, she turns on him, eyes full of unshed tears, and she seems quite angry. "Did you do this to him?" she asks, and he remembers the red on black of the stark cloaks and spinning scarlet eyes closing for the last time as he languidly blinks in the span of a moment.

"Yes," he says, eyes opening, and he's lying.

* * *

 

**2.  
**

The night when Sasuke returns, the air is humid and dense. It's summer and the clouds have completely obstructed the night sky, but it would be no different than if it were cloudless; it was the new moon, and the sky would be dark anyways. Sakura thinks it's a bit ironic to the fact that he's coming back tonight, with his teammates, attacking the village for a forbidden scroll.

Naruto had pushed her out of the way, but she had assured him that this was her responsibility – _this is my problem, Naruto – you take care of yours_. She could see the conflict warring in his haunted eyes, but he had let her go, and here she is.

She knew the moment she told Naruto she would go after Sasuke that she is by far weaker than the now-man, and that she honestly stood no chance. But she would rather die a death like this, like the weak teammate he thought of her, than have his team succeed in stealing the scroll that they were risking everyone, everything for.

So she had ended up here, her back against the tree, lightly bruised, only slightly bleeding, but with a sore heart most of all. A kunai is pressed against her throat and his dangerous, hot breath fans over her neck and ear as he whispers to her. "I could kill you, you know," he says to her, and she can feel his smirk.

"Yes," she says, after a pause. "I know."

* * *

 

**3.  
**

The night when Sasuke returns, she is alone. It's autumn and the city is burning. It wasn't an attack, merely a certain someone in the craze of fall. She can hear the distant noise, but she isn't there, she is here. In the cherry blossom park, where the trees aren't in bloom, it isn't the right season; they're dead, lifeless. They won't bloom until spring, and even then, they won't be as they used to.

Sakura is disappointed that he's a monster, but in her mind, he isn't Sasuke but someone else, and she isn't betraying her village for a silly crush ( _love, love_ , her mind whispers), and she certainly won't cry herself to sleep in the end.

And then…

She knows he's behind her before he speaks. "So you got the message." He states, cocky smirk coming through his words.

"Yes," she says, sounding like the obedient and weak kunoichi he believes she is ( _was,_ she thinks). Sasuke's calling to her was something only she and him could ever understand, and she had caught the confused look on poor Naruto's face as she had rushed past.

"I need your help, Sakura." If he had said those words to hear two years, even one year ago, she would have squealed. But now she eyes him warily, guard up.

"With what, Sasuke…" he frowns, "…-kun?" A smirk, something they are sharing between them, and a smile.

Sasuke is behind her now, kneeling down behind her, but always having the higher ground. He speaks darkly to her. "I have more than one goal, Sakura."

* * *

 

**4.  
**

The night when Sasuke returns, it's cold outside. It's winter and it's drizzling; she wishes she had brought her jacket, but she honestly didn't even think about it. Dark skies shake as lightning strikes miles away and she can feel the thunder reverberating through her body, standing on the firm ground outside of Konoha's gates.

Sakura is sick and injured and she most definitely should _not_ be out in the rain in her condition, wearing nothing for protection but a light sweater that was made for the summer season, not the harsh reality of winter.

But Naruto has promised her that he would bring him back, himself, without her help, and she let him go because there was nothing else she could do. She lets him go because there is this void in her where the stale air passes back and forth through the door, and Sakura lets herself be free from it all. Here and now, in her light sweater, she shivers, because she's cold and because she knows that he's coming.

And sure enough, from the mist of the night, comes two weary travelers. Neither looks hurt on the outside, but then again, neither does she.

She doesn't rush to them. She doesn't say anyone's names, she doesn't cry. She doesn't blurt out a love confession, when they – he – appear clearly, standing in front of her; she can see the whites of their eyes.

' _He's almost exactly the same as he was_ ,' she thinks, but corrects herself after a moment, _'both of them.'_

"Don't speak," she does say, eyes not closed but not yet open, letting the rain fall softly onto the smooth crevices of her face, "you'll ruin it."


End file.
